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Talking in rapid-fire French with the e — Sergeant Henri Petitjean, according to the ID bar on his chest — divided his attention (that is to say, his piercing glare) between the shell-shocked man, Miranda, and me The unfortunate Passerby, who had probably been anticipating a leisurely Sunday- a lot of exasperated shrugging and indignant pointing — the shrugging at the policeave a dismissive wave of his hand and turned to leave In a flash, the policeman spun him around, pinned hi anywhere except to one of the courtyard café tables, where he ordered the shaken man to sit
The soldierly sergeant turned to us “Monsieur et madame Parlez-vous français?”
I knew enough French to know that he was asking if we spoke French I also knew enough to say, “Non, pardon Anglais?”
He glared at me, then turned his hawkish eyes on Miranda “Madame?”
Miranda gave a regretful head shake “Only a little bit Seulement un petit peu Nous sommes américains”
“Ah Ae” Too bad for him, or too bad for us? He touched the radio transmitter on his shoulder and spoke rapidly into it I couldof what he said, except for French-sounding versions of ho reply, I heard “Crucifixion?” He touched the transain and repeated it “Oui, crucifixion” The saain This time he practically smashed the transmit button “Oui! Crucifixion, crucifixion, cru-ci-FIX-ion!” This tih; I heard the dispatcher’s “Merde! Mon Dieu!”—“Shit! My God!”—and then, after a pause, what sounded like the English words “day cart” This response seen-off and then led Miranda and lowering French we’d ruined, and motioned for us to sit He posted one of the officers beside the French pedestrian and posted another, the voained his composure by now, but his face reht eye was pulsing as if it were hooked to an electrode
It wasn’t long before a forensic team — equipped hite biohazard suits, cameras, and evidence kits — arrived and entered the chapel Not far behind them came a plainclothes officer, whoe; his wavy black hair was going to gray, as were his bushy, tufted eyebrows His brown eyes were deeply recessed beneath a prohtly sallow olive tone of Mediterranean peoples, and under his eyes were deep lines and dark circles, almost blue-black His shirt cuffs and collar were frayed, his black pants had faded to a dull charcoal, and his shoes were badly scuffed
The detective and the uniforeant conferred in low tones beside the chapel door; at one point the detective paused and leaned backward, peering around the sergeant to study Miranda and htened and continued the murmured conversation After several minutes of this, he and the officer entered the chapel
The detective spoke briefly with the disgruntled civilian who’d gotten roped into the dralance in our direction, the man ducked under the crime-scene tape and vanished
“Goodfirst at Miranda, then at me “You two found the body, yes? I need to ask you solish was crisp and fluent, with a hint of a British accent “My name is Inspector René Descartes” He took out a notepad and flipped it open, then uncapped a pen and began to write
“Like the philosopher?” asked Miranda “The Descartes who said, ‘I think, therefore I am’?”
“Yes, that one We are related — by blood, or by wishful thinking ‘I think I aed a slight, strained smile before he continued “Tell me what happened But first, your nahtly when Miranda said “Lovelady,” but he didn’t co together?”
“Yes,” said Miranda, at the very moment that I said, “No” The pen hovered above the notepad Descartes looked up, his gaze lighting first on Miranda, then swiveling to htly “We’re working together,” she explained
“But she got here before I did,” I added
“I see,” he said in a neutral tone “Mr…” He checked his notepad “Mr Brockton, would you please wait here? Have a seat Make yourself coht Couy’s bound to consider us suspects Very comfortable “Mademoiselle Lovelady, would you come with me, please?”
He led her to a table in the farthest corner of the courtyard, offering her a chair before taking one himself He drew his chair close to hers, possibly so they could speak more privately but more likely so she would feel off balance, unsettled by the intrusion into her personal space — a favorite interrogation technique, I knew, of hoators
He interviewed Miranda for what seemed an eternity — more than an hour, in any case, for I’m sure I heard a bell toll eleven, and later counted twelve It tolls for thee, Stefan, I thought Finally he brought Miranda back and motioned for me to follow him Miranda’s eyes et and red rimmed I offered her my handkerchief, but she shook her head and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand I gave her shoulder a quick squeeze, then followed the inspector to the distant corner
“I’ine, this is a very unusual cri one”
“Yes, of course,” I said “A good ation takes time”
He smiled “Madeations In fact, I a French newspapers, Le Monde, published a story about the Body Faro I still have it inwork Someday, if I visit the United States, I would like to see your research facility”
“Certainly” I took out my wallet and fished out a business card “Just let us knohen you’re co” He took the card and read the front, then flipped it over and studied the back “What are these lines andscale”
“Exactly,” I said “If I’ pictures at a death scene and need to show the size of a bone, I’ve always got one of these, even if I don’t have a ruler or tape measure”
He nodded “Very useful Very clever” He flipped a page in the notebook, which was half filled noith notes from his interview of Miranda “So, please, Dr Brockton”—I took it as a good sign that he’d promoted me fro Start at the beginning Take all the time you need”
He took copious notes as I talked, interrupting occasionally to ask me to slon a bit, or to reword a phrase he didn’t fully understand, or to clarify a point
He bore down on me when I told how Miranda and I had looked around Stefan’s aparto there?”